


Darling, I'll Be Home Tonight

by ettasig



Series: Stiles & Malia – One-shots [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV), stalia - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Future Fic, Married Stalia, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-25 01:05:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12519440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ettasig/pseuds/ettasig
Summary: A/N: Hello! Thank you so much to everyone who read this. This is my first posted fic. It's just something short and sweet for my beloved ship. I love Stalia so much and I was really upset at the lack of fics about them and the appalling way the writers finished their story in canon. I hope you liked my fic as much as I liked writing it!





	Darling, I'll Be Home Tonight

His hand is trembling as he wiggles the key into the lock, swinging the front door open as slowly as he can. He stumbles in, cringing at the squeak of the wooden floor as he grimaces from the pain under his ribs. His head is pounding and his hand is a violent red when he lifts it. Stiles is beyond exhausted. Every nerve in his body is sensitive and aching, and no matter much he tries to stop it, blood manages to trickle through the fabric of his uniform.

Just as he staggers through the hallway and his weak knees drop to the floor, the light flickers on and he hears a strangled ‘Stiles!’ as Malia rushes to him on the kitchen floor. She seats herself on the tile and gently lays his head on her lap, her slim fingers sliding to cup his jaw whilst her other hand steadies itself on his chest.

“Lia…hunters…” he starts.

She shushes him before he can say anything else and presses her lips to his cheekbone. She’s trying to be strong now but he can see the cracks in her sad smile when lifts her head. If he doesn’t make tomorrow morning, he thinks, it’ll be alright because his eyes are flickering up at her from below and she is so beautiful that that might kill him right then and there. But then, the hand on his chest moves to apply pressure on his wound and he feels a sharp sting before a warm sensation just above his stomach. When he looks at up at her again, her eyes are squeezed tight and she gasps for air and winces as black races up her veins. He can feel himself regaining his strength as heat travels through his muscles and the pain begins to subside.

He feels droplets on his face and he opens his eyes to see that her lips are quivering and the hand on his face moves to comb through his grimy hair.

She’s crying.

And he wants to kick himself because she’s crying because of him.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. Thank you,” he murmurs, pushing her hand away from the wound and holding her hand in his, his thumb twirling against the silver band on her ring finger.

Her eyebrows knit together before she hastily yanks her fingers from his and places it back on the wound. “Stiles, stop being so stubborn and let me finish. You’re still hurting,” she hisses at him desperately.

He takes her hand again and stares at her right in the eye, “You’re going to collapse if you keep doing it. Baby, please. It doesn’t hurt anymore, I promise.”

The wound is starting to dry up yet she looks at him hurt, hesitant. For a person who spent eight years as a coyote, she has always been selfless and loving towards him. He had fallen in love with the worry in her caramel eyes, her patience, her compassion and her willingness to always help others. He knows she wants to be out there too, protecting him and fighting against evil.

She makes a line with her lips and swallows before pressing their foreheads together. She sucks in a breath and before he knows it, she’s sobbing uncontrollably into the crook of his neck. He’s only ever seen her cry this much on a few occasions, almost all of them being the anniversaries of her mother and sister’s deaths. But until now, never for him. Right now, the guilt riding up in his throat hurts a lot more than the physical pain.

Stiles clasps the back of her neck and brings their lips together. “Thank you,” he tells her, gruffly, when he pulls away, tucking the hair in her face behind her ear. He sits up when she does and takes her hand in his. She looks away, sighing, refusing to meet his eyes. He cups her cheek in his hand, forcing her to look at him and whispers earnestly, “Malia, I’m sorry. Believe me, I’m sorry.”

She bites her lip to stop it from trembling. She closes her eyes, then opens them and points them up at the ceiling for a moment before letting out a shaky breath. “You promised…You promised you’d never leave me behind, promised you'd never leave without me-“

“I haven’t!” He says softly in his defence, his thumb reaching up to wipe away her tears, “I’m not going to, I promise.”

With that expression on her face, he knows she’s having trouble believing him. So he kisses her on the lips and wonders if he should feel guilty for wanting her to stay at home, away from all the bad guys, waiting for him. They were seventeen when he first promised he’d never leave her. Years later and he still holds truth to that but there are times when he’s been willing to break her promise and die before she does, simply because he honestly wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he lost her.

“I’ve lost a lot of people in my life, Stiles,” she reminds him. “I’m not prepared to lose you too. I need you. Your family needs you,” she says, fiercely, placing his hand on the area under her stomach. He nods, fully aware that their little daughter is in there, waiting to come out in a just a few weeks.

After a while, Malia hooks her arm under his and guides him to the bathroom where she strips him of his blood-soaked uniform and runs a bath. The hot water is incredibly soothing as he soaks in the tub. He eyes flutter as Malia pours the water over his head and down his back, scrubbing away the dirt and blood residue. He’s better now but the panic refuses to leave her face. He leans in close to her where she’s kneeling at the side of the tub and peppers sweet kisses along the length of her neck up to her jawline. “Love you,” he murmurs in a sing-song voice, earning a half-there smile. It’s not much but he’s grateful for it.

When he’s finished, she helps him put on the boxers, navy shirt and pyjama pants that she chose for him and bandages up his wound. Before she sleeps, Malia checks it again and presses her lips to his temple, yawning as she wishes him goodnight. Stiles watches her sleep on her side with her arm on his chest, before his eyes begin to droop and he slips into sleep.

* * *

 

He wakes to the sound of sizzling and the clanging of plates. He’s still tired and his eyes are groggy but he decides he doesn’t want to sleep anymore. Sitting up on the bed, the pain isn’t as bad as he thinks as he pulls away the sheets and stumbles out of bed.

“Honey, I need you to finish your eggs in 3…2…,” he hears his wife say through the hallway as he walks towards the kitchen. Their six-year-old son is seated at the kitchen counter, quickly scoffing down his breakfast, waving a fork in the air. He’s got all his mother’s features (including her stubbornness), except for the pale skin and moles on the side of his face inherited from his father.

“Daddy!” He cries when he sees him, the remains of his breakfast dangling out of his mouth.

“Morning, buddy!” He says to his son, ruffling his hair. “Have you been a good boy for Mommy?” he asks, looking up at Malia standing across the counter with a dopey grin. Her hair is swept upon her shoulder in a messy ponytail whilst a hand rests under her belly.

The boy gives him a toothy smile. “Yeah! I ate all my breakfast too!” he exclaims, holding up his plate for his dad.

“That’s my boy,” Stiles praises, giving his son a hi-five. He crosses over to Malia and wraps an arm around her waist, leaning in to kiss her lips, “Morning, Lia.” She hums against his lips, content, before turns away and says, “Right, Dex. C’mon, time for school.”

Dexter jumps out of his stool excitedly and disappears. He returns with his shoes and his backpack slung on one arm. He runs to both his parents and swaddles them in a tight hug. Stiles grins, looking down at his son and pregnant wife. Joy and pride warm every piece of his heart. He smiles, thinking that this is the everything he’d ever dreamt of since senior year of high school.

No way is he ready to leave this. He thinks he never will.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hello! Thank you so much to everyone who read this. This is my first posted fic. It's just something short and sweet for my beloved ship. I love Stalia so much and I was really upset at the lack of fics about them and the appalling way the writers finished their story in canon. I hope you liked my fic as much as I liked writing it!


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